


Sweetest Tongue has Sharpest Tooth

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Cora, Cora Hale Centric, Gen, Hale Family Feels, Werewolf Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora Hale never found a new pack after the Hale fire, and instead was captured and made to fight for her life in dog fight for werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest Tongue has Sharpest Tooth

Cora could remember her very first fight, the one that set her on this path, the one that led her to this exact moment. This moment with her hands dripping with dark blood, lips pulled back so she was baring her teeth down at him.

She had been just a kid, then. God, she hadn’t even had her first period yet. She was scared, and alone, and part of her was missing, but she remembered every last minute of it. They had taken her from the forests, snatching her up while she was running away from the pain of what she had lost. They had starved her, stuck her in a small cage, and tortured her with electricity shoved through the bars until she was weak. Until she was angry. She was so angry, so furious, so frenzied that the minute they let her out of that cage, she went tearing at the first thing she saw.

He was a small boy, only a year or two older than her. She could see his ribs, could count them one by one. She could curl her hand over his hip, it was so small. He had brown eyes, dark like chocolate that her mother used to make, striped with gold and green flecks. They were wide with fear, and he stank of it. That’s what she remembered the most, actually: the smell of his fear, of his overwhelming terror. It lingered in her nose for days afterward.

That, and the smell of his blood. The taste of it. The way it clung to her skin and matted her hair and made her clothes stiff. She could still recall the crunch of the boy’s windpipe between her teeth, could feel the way it gave way. The shout of surprise and pain echoed in Cora’s ears every time she found herself in a quiet room.

He had been easy to take down, unskilled and mostly untrained. Cora had trained with her dad and uncle, fighting her cousins and trying to take down her older siblings. She was a good fighter, small enough to be quick, and born to a strong line of werewolves that leant their strength to hers. She was a good fighter, and he was an easy mark.

She remembered all of it. She also remembered the relief and joy she felt as the boy dropped to the ground and they opened the gate that would feed her. She desperately wanted food, and she would do anything to keep the food coming.

She _did_ anything and she was fed well for it, because she was a good fighter.

She was a good killer.

There were times during her years with them that blurred together, that she didn’t remember fighting or eating or sleeping. She would go into a trance, auto-piloting her way through fighting for her life. She would wake up hours, days, even a week later with blood crusted in every part of her and she wouldn’t care.

She didn’t care.

She had forgotten her name, for a while. They called her something ridiculous, hooted and hollered it until she didn’t know who she was. They erased her background, took away her roots, and left her anonymous.

She wasn’t the second youngest child of the Hale line. She wasn’t an A student with a group of soccer girls that were probably masquerading as her friends. She wasn’t Talia’s favorite daughter- sorry, Laura- and she wasn’t the Hale to pick up her shift the quickest in several generations. She wasn’t the girl interested in rock and roll, and movie soundtracks. She wasn’t anyone.

She was just their pawn and their entertainment.

She never saw them. They were shadows, voices from behind the bars, bolts of electrocution when she wasn’t behaving. They wanted entertainment, and they wanted to pit werewolves against each other for money. She’d heard them calling out numbers and names, announcing winners and odds, betting on which wolf they thought would come out on top.

Newcomers would bet on the underdog, on Cora’s opponents. When newcomers became old timers, they would all start betting on Cora, and there wasn’t enough money to pay all of the winners. That had happened a few times. Afterwards, Cora would be pitted against big, nasty second in commands, bears of men that weighed twice as much as Cora. They were bulky, and moved slowly. They packed one hell of a punch, leaving bruises that took a week or more to heal, but that was only when they could land one. Cora was light on her feet, and had the ability to move like a dancer.

She’d had lessons, for a little while. Her mother had insisted that she be as well-rounded as possible, especially given- and these were Talia Hale’s direct words- “your personality is atrocious sometimes, Cora Daisy.”

Cora was tiny, and she was strong for her age, and those big, brutes of men were too cocky. They’d won up until that fight, by tearing apart wolves bigger than Cora with the least amount of effort. They wouldn’t have that much ease at taking her down, because Cora was stubborn, like her brother and sister and their mother before them. She was stubborn and she had a drive to win and to survive, just like her uncle and her father.

It didn’t matter about them, though. She was the last Hale. She was the sole survivor of the great Hale pack that used to sprawl across the forests and hills of Northern California and into Oregon. She was the one that would carry on their- her name. It was her and her alone now, and she would not lose that to a bear of a man who didn’t know how to shave and stunk not of hunger or desperation but of pride.

Her mother had hated those kind of people.

They used to taunt her, the men she was challenged with.

“I’ve picked bigger scraps of meat from between my teeth,” one had said.

Another had spoken not to her, but to them. “This is bullshit! You expect me to tear apart a little girl? She’s barely out of diapers!”

They underestimated her. They assumed that since she was small and young and had close to no muscle that she would go down easily, that she had no strength to fight back with.

They were wrong.

She liked to prove them wrong, found joy in dancing around their lumbering swipes. She could wear them out simply by avoiding them, ducking under their swipes and sliding gracefully around to their back. She got in playful kidney shots at first, then slid as they wheeled around and punched them hard in the jaw, then moved to kick at the back of their knees which brought them crashing to the ground. She treated it like a game, because that was all it was.

It didn’t matter that the consequences were you win or you die. It was a game just the same.

This lasted for years. She grew up in that cage, in those fights. She changed from a scared little girl to a killer in front of the eyes of bloodthirsty betters, their cash keeping her alive, their enjoyment of her fights never wearing thin. If it had, well, she’d seen what happened to the wolves that weren’t entertaining.

A hypodermic needle full of wolfsbane injected straight into the heart.

She had nightmares about that needle. She would rather live through a thousand fights than face the wrong end of that needle just once. She didn’t want to die. She had lost her entire family, every single member of the once impressive, feared Hale pack, and as much as she missed them with every fiber of her being, she did not want to join them yet.

She fought like Hell, and she fought in increasingly engaging ways, listening to how they wanted her to kill her opponents. They called, and she did.

She was more effective at exterminating werewolves than most werewolf hunters, her kill count racking up far quicker than any hunter she’d met.

It kept her alive. It kept her fed.

Years passed, and Cora wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was stronger, faster, and deadlier than ever. She could take apart grown male wolves with barely a blow. She could probably even take down an Alpha, if they had let her. Alphas only fought Alphas, though, and betas fought betas, and omegas fought omegas.

She hadn’t been in line for the Alpha power when her pack was alive, but part of her knew that she would make a good Alpha. She was strong, and she could lead her own pack. She could guide them, and teach them. She had taught herself, after all. She had taught herself to survive, how to fight, how to gauge her opponent and predict their moves before they made them. She could make strong wolves, and have a family again.

Years passed. 

* * *

 

It was just a regular night, another night of hearing wolves howl in pain, begging for mercy before their howl was cut off and was never heard again. Cora was trying to get some rest before her match, listening to the pleas of human voices before they turned feral and animalistic. It was easier for them, their captors, to justify these horrific dog fights if they forced the werewolves into their most animalistic forms. For some, that was a full shift into a wolf, but for most, it was their half shift, faces turning more lupine and nails become deadly claws.

She knew what her fellow winners sounded like during their fights, having grown up listening to them and figuring out which whine and yelp belonged to who.

She didn’t know their names. She still barely remembered her own name, but she’d grown attached to them. She’d given each of them a personality, a backstory, a life before this.

There wasn’t much else to do in that cage all day.

There was seven wolves that had survived to this point in their part of the captivity, including her. One was a big, broad-shouldered wolf with greying brown hair, an Alpha, who Cora imagined to be a family guy, the father of four with one on the way, who liked to read to his kids every night and gave them extra scoops of ice cream when they were sad. He had been on a perimeter sweep the night they had nabbed him, and he’d only managed to win by sheer luck in the beginning since he was never trained to fight.

There were two wolves, identical twins, both omegas, who often fought in the same fight. Cora imaged they were two different people entirely, one a brawl fighter who took down anyone who threatened her sister and the other a sly fighter who killed anyone before they could act on threatening her sister. They came from the inner city, and had had to scrounge for their meals growing up. They still did now. Their scrounging had a deadlier cost now, however.

There was a boy, younger than Cora, who inhabited the cage next to hers. She didn’t have to imagine his backstory, though. He whispered it aloud every night after their fights.

“My name is Jack Waters. I am 15 years old. I am the last member of the Waters pack. I am the Alpha. I was born in San Diego, and rose to Alpha at the age of 7.”

He repeated it until he fell asleep on the cold dusty ground, until Cora could recite it for him.

Cora didn’t know much about the others, couldn’t see much of them from the bars of her prison. From what she could gather, the other two were both women, fierce and loud during their fights. They weren’t Alphas, but Cora thought that maybe they were omegas, both lone wolves without a pack. Well, they were all lone wolves without a pack now.

She watched Jack get let out towards the fights first, and then stumble back with blood coating his front and a satiated look on his face. He’d survived another night. She watched them come and take away the twins separately, but only one came back that night. She looked on with disinterest as the twin realized her sister had lost and she was never coming back. Cora imagined her to be the sly one, the one who pre-emptively struck in order to save her sister. They took away the family man right before Cora, and he came back with more wounds than normal, his body dragging with pain. He didn’t even seem to look full from gorging himself on whatever was on the winners’ menu.

No, he just looked empty.

They let Cora out next, the door buzzing open without any help from her captors, leading her to the arena. When she’d first been captured, she’d tried to get free by running down the hallways away from the arena, but she was caught and tasered before being thrown into the fight. Now she made her way to the arena without any need for electricity or clubs. She did not fear the fights. She was the undisputed champion of her rounds. There was nothing to fear.

Except the moment when she wasn’t champion anymore.

Except the moment when she became just another smear of blood on the arena floor to be hosed off at the end of the night, washed down the drain.

She entered the arena to a din of noise, which would be overwhelming to any wolf in any circumstance but she was used to it. She stepped out of the doors and faced a wolf with thick, black hair and face already shifted, ready to fight. He was broad-shouldered, with impressive muscles, shirtless and in torn jeans, blood stained along his skin, fresh wounds along one shoulder. His eyes burned red.

An alpha.

“What is this? Huh? What happened to the rules?” she shouted at the crowd, speaking to them. “One fight a night per wolf. Only Alphas fight Alphas.”

They didn’t answer, only roared and shouted at her in reply.

She turned just in time to dive out of the way of the Alpha barreling at her. He was fast, faster than most wolves his size, and he looked strong. Cora would actually have to try to beat this one, she figured.

But why now? Why make her face an Alpha now? What did they want from her? Did they want to move her up in the fights? Or did they want her dead? Was she no longer of any entertainment value? Did she no longer make them money so they wanted to get rid of her? They needed to get her out of their roster and the only person they could scrounge up to take her down was a meaty but efficient Alpha.

He was good. His fighting style was familiar, although Cora couldn’t place it. He knew when to dodge and when to throw a punch, and he landed some good ones that knocked the wind out of her. She hadn’t had a good fight in a year or so, all of her opponents too weak or too cocky to be much of a challenge. This man, though, was confident in his actions, knew that his swings would hit exactly where he wanted them to. But Cora was more agile given her size, her slight, almost malnourished frame. She could land as many as he could, both bleeding from one wound or another.

She shoved him into the wall and danced away, putting as much distance between the two of them to breathe for a moment. She hadn’t had a fight this intense, this draining. When she won, she was going to feast and then sleep as hard as she could on the cold ground.

When he came around, snarling and lunging for her, she was prepared. She dove to the right and given his weight, he fell past her. She sunk her claws deep in the wound already on his shoulder from his previous fight and he let out a growl, shaking her off. She made sure that she dragged her claws down before pulling them out.

“Stop this,” the Alpha snarled. His breathing was labored and he had blood oozing in dark rivulets down his chest.

“Not when you’re standing in the way of me and a meal,” she lisped before he came at her again. She caught him this time by dropping and digging her claws into the meat of his calf. She brought him down to the ground and shoved him onto his back. She swung her leg over his hips and grabbed his wrists to pin him down. “I will not lose to some Alpha douche bag.”

He tried to buck her off but she was too strong for him, or at least, she had the upper hand here. She drove her claws into his arm, which should’ve made him cry out.

Instead, he said, “not some Alpha, Cora.”

“Your Alpha.”

The fighting style. The sleek dark hair. The triskele inked between his shoulder blades.

“Derek?”

She could remember her very first fight, the one that set her on this path, the one that led her to this exact moment. This moment with her hands dripping with dark blood, lips pulled back so she was baring her teeth down at him.

Down at him.

Her brother.

The older brother she used to train with, the one who used to give her piggy back rides, and the one who played hide and seek with her during full moons to help hone her skills. The older brother who died in that fire, the fire that consumed every last member of her pack, except her.

This couldn’t be her brother. This couldn’t be Derek.

“No.”

She released one hand and went for his throat, but before she could grip, the alarm blared above them. She’d heard the alarm once before.

It meant intruders. Someone was trying to get in.

The man looked up with a grin at the flashing lights and siren like it was Christmas or something, like it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Finally!” he said.

Had he planned this? Was this man, Maybe-Derek, going to break out when no one else had in the years that Cora had been there? Could Cora be free at last, after all of these years, after she fought and murdered hundreds of innocent werewolves?

He bucked her off and rose, standing in the center of the arena as the gamblers and the other despicable sinners ran in circles, shouting about being under attack. Maybe-Derek held out his hand to her. He had shifted back, his face now human and his claws now harmless fingernails.

“Cora. It’s time to go home,” he said gently. He looked just like her father; he had grown from Talia’s male carbon copy into Andrew’s.

Cora grabbed his hand, both slick with blood, and he hoisted her to her feet. He grinned at her, but she couldn’t find it in her to offer any smile in return. Not yet.

This all still felt like a dream to her.

“How do we get out?” he asked.

“Either gate is going to be locked,” she answered.

“Not for long.”

He stalked to the gate he’d come from and wrapped his hands around the bars. Cora watched as he pulled with all his strength until the metal ripped apart, leaving a hole just big enough to pass through.

“Wow,” she breathed.

He led and she followed, the corridors nearly empty with people, except for the small inlets that held cages of wolves.

“Can we save them?” she asked, gesturing down on of the corridors. She didn’t know these wolves. The two halves of the compound fought each other, so these were her opponents, the wolves that she would’ve fought one day. She still didn’t want them to die, even if they would’ve killed her in the arena. None of them deserved this, they never had.

“Not all of them,” Derek answered.

“We have to try, don’t we?”

“Cora, we don’t even know how to open the cages.”

Cora chewed on her lip. She started to protest that they needed to find a way when a pair of footsteps came rushing down a corridor towards them. She grabbed Derek by the elbow and started to pull him into one of the rows of cages.

“There you are! Jesus! Come on! Boyd and Isaac can’t hold them off for long!” a boy about Cora’s age whose heart was rabbiting in his chest wheezed out. He was human, Cora noticed, his hair sticking up in odd angles, his eyes tracking the blood on Derek’s chest and then sizing up Cora.

“I’m not leaving until we free everyone,” Cora decided.

“Cora, we can’t-” Derek started to protest.

“How long have you been in here, huh? Days? Weeks? Maybe a few months? I’ve been here for years, since the fire. We can’t just leave them in their cages. We have to be better than the assholes who have fought us like we’re dogs, Derek.”

“Who is this? Why do you matter?” the boy asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“This is my sister. Cora.”

The other boy, who stunk of new, untamed Alpha power, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You have a sister?” he asked.

Cora glanced around, barely listening as their conversation continued. She’d seen from her cage a door encased in shadow, and the footsteps echoed upwards. Stairs. She looked around and found a door just like the one on her side of the compound. While the boys and Derek argued about the best way to get out or something, Cora pulled open the door and took the stairs.

She found her way into a security office, monitors showing every hallway in the compound, some facing the arena and some showing the cages. She scoured the control panels until she found a series of switches which were all labeled “Cage Sector” and followed by a number leading up to 14. Fourteen sectors, all filled with cages, home to captive werewolves just looking to go home to their families, to their packs, if they still have them. Cora studied the monitors and found Sector 1, then flipped the corresponding switch.

The cage doors in Sector 1 buzzed open, every single one of them. Cora hurriedly flicked the rest of the switches and excitedly watched every cage door in every sector open. She found her sector, Sector 7, and watched as Jack stepped worriedly out of his cage.

She’d done it.

She’d set everyone free.

Cora continued to search the control panel and found other switches to gates and doors, all set to locked. She didn’t know which way anyone would go, so she decided to just try them all for good measure.

“Cora?!” Derek called, his voice worried as he thundered up the stairs. He wheeled into the security office and pulled up short, the two boys coming in behind him. “What are you doing?”

“Setting everyone free.”

“Cora,” he groaned.

“Look, I won’t just leave them. I’ve done enough damage to our people, Derek. I won’t abandon them.”

“What do y-” the human boy started to ask.

“The only way you survive in this place is if you kill anyone that they pit against you. You win or you die,” Cora snapped at him.

“Very Game of Thrones,” he commented.

“I don’t know what that is,” Cora replied.

“It’s a book series and a TV show, about-”

“Now is not the time for this, Stiles,” the other boy, the Alpha with dark skin and big brown eyes said. The human, Stiles, shrugged.

“I’ll catch you up later,” Stiles said. “We should get going.”

Together Stiles and the other boy, she learned his name was Scott later, lead them back through the sectors of confused wolves, who ended up following their group to the entrance of the compound. The building was surrounded with barbwire fencing, but that didn’t seem to be a problem for them anymore. There was a blue Jeep and a big black SUV crashed through it in two spots, and wolves from every sector were spilling out of the compound and through the gates into freedom.

“Stop right there!” a voice shouted. Cora knew that voice. She’d never heard it alone, always part of a crowd, or in warning from a cloak of shadows before a shock of electricity was pushed through the bars and into her side. He was the ring leader, she was pretty sure, the one that urged them on and upped the bets.

He was thin, and looked kind of slimy, with his hair gelled back, his eyes too close together. He focused on Cora amongst the group, and a smarmy smile crossed his face. It made Cora’s skin crawl.

“Always knew you’d be trouble. It was only a matter of time before you stopped being of use,” he said, his voice oily. She needed to take a bath, for years, a long and vigorous bath.

Scott stepped in front of the group and snarled, “back away from her.”

“Oh, you’re a nice specimen. Wish I’d had you in the fights. You would’ve made me a lot of cash.”

“Come on. He can’t stop up. He’s powerless right now, without his crowd of sin around him,” Cora said, shoving the slimy snakehead backwards a few steps. “If you ever come near me or my pack again, I will rip you apart piece by slimy piece. Do you understand me?”

“I like ‘em feisty,” he replied. Cora pounced and tackled him to the ground.

“You son of a bitch,” she roared as she straddled his chest and shifted just her claws. She went to dig them into his heart when a pair of arms encircled her waist and lifted her up off him.

“Easy there, little girl,” someone, a man, said. Cora looked over her shoulder to find the family man. “We all want him dead, but we have to be better than the selves he forced us to be in there.”

Cora was set on the ground, and cautiously was let free. The slime ball of a man picked himself up off the ground and she snarled at him, which made him stumble back. She smiled.

“Let’s go home,” Cora said. Derek nodded.

“Little girl?” the family man asked quietly. “Thank you. I know it was you that got us out. I can go home to my little girls, now. Thank you.”

“Thank you for fighting until now,” she replied. He stuck out his hand and she took it, shaking it firmly like her father taught her. “Go home. Kiss your kids. Be a good Alpha.”

“Be a good girl. Be a teenager,” he instructed.

“I’m Cora.”

“Sean,” he answered. She smiled.

“Well, Sean, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but I hope I never see you.”

“Same here, little girl.”

Derek nudged Cora.

“It’s time to go.”

“Good luck, Sean.”

Cora followed Derek and his ragtag bunch of teenagers to the two cars. A teenage girl and an older man, both human, came to join them from the tree line, stinking of hunter. Cora bared her teeth and began to back away.

“Easy, they’re with us,” Stiles said, resting his hand on her arm. “They’re not gonna hurt us.”

“They’re hunters!”

“Trust us, okay? They’re not here to harm any of the wolves here,” Stiles said. Cora looked up at him, and he had the most honest expression in those sunshine through whiskey eyes. Cora nodded.

“I’m not getting in the car with them, though.”

“You can ride with me and Scott, then. It’ll be a fun little road trip.”

Derek rolled his eyes at the human and shoved him towards the car a little too carelessly for Stiles being a human. Maybe Derek knew something Cora couldn’t sense.

Derek and Cora packed themselves into the back of Stiles’ baby blue Jeep, while Scott called shotgun and Stiles drove them recklessly home behind the hunters’ SUV.

Stiles chattered ceaselessly, which was okay with Cora. He was funny, and okay, she found him more than a little attractive, and she hadn’t had a conversation with anyone in years. She had listened from her cage to the twins muttering back and forth, and she had listened to Jack every night, but she hadn’t spoken to anyone and had them speak back in a very long time. Stiles plowed on in his ramblings even if no one had answered, and that was endearing. Derek kept grumbling beside her, and she could tell he and Stiles were merely acquaintances instead of friends.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to her brother in the years they’d been apart. She wasn’t sure what horrors he had seen. She was sure that he had seen them, though. He used to be so easy going, smiling and care-free. He used to put her up on his shoulders and carry her around when her feet got tired. They would sit with Laura and do their homework in the dining room together after dinner, and Derek would help her with her spelling tests. Whatever he had experienced had changed him, made him more withdrawn and sullen.

“Here we are, Casa de Hale,” Stiles said, pulling into a parking spot at the base of a tall, industrial building in town.

“That was awful pronunciation,” Scott commented. “I’m ashamed.”

Stiles and Scott continued to bicker while Cora looked up at the building.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

“Yeah. I know it’s not much, but it’s got a bed and a bathroom,” Derek answered with a shrug. “I had to do something with the insurance money, so-”

“You bought the building?”

“Yeah.”

Cora made a noise, although she was unsure what she meant by said noise, but Derek didn’t comment.

“Guys. We need to get out.”

Scott climbed out and slid his seat forward, allowing Cora out and then Derek. Cora studied their surroundings. It was the complete opposite of how they’d grown up, in a sprawling green forest. Here it was a jungle of concrete, the only green in sight were patches of grass between the strips of stone for the sidewalk and the road.

“We should get going. My mom’s going to start worrying. We’ll see you tomorrow, though,” Scott said to Derek. Derek nodded in reply.

“It was nice meeting you, Cora,” Stiles called as Scott climbed back into the Jeep and shut the door behind him.

Cora smiled as the Jeep growled weakly to life and sped away.

“Don’t even think about it,” Derek said.

“I wasn’t-”

“Just don’t. I have enough Stilinski in my life; I don’t need him hanging around because you’re flirting with him.”

“Wait. His name is Stiles Stilinski?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he led them into the building and into an elevator that took them to the top floor. He showed her into the loft.

“It doesn’t have a lot of furniture, and it’s barely heated, and there’s holes in the walls, and blood stains on the floor, and there’s close to no food in the house. Ever. But, this is it,” Derek said, gesturing and looking at her worriedly.

“I spent the last near decade of my life in a cage,” she reminded him. “This is a haven to me.”

Derek laughed, and it sounded just like it always had. It was honest and loud, filling up the room. Cora felt that laugh in her bones, that laugh that she had grown up with, that laugh that when she heard it, she felt like she had won a prize. Derek hadn’t held back on laughs growing up, but looking at him now, she knew he hadn’t laughed often enough recently. She knew that he needed to heal from whatever he had gone through.

Cora laughed with him, because they were together again. Whatever they had gone through, that was over, and they could begin to heal.

They could start together.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a Cora-centric fic because I love Cora Hale so passionately, and I've also always wanted to write a dog fighting for werewolves fic so.... voila and stuff!   
> This always works as a pre-Stiles/Cora, if you want it to be, because there's not enough Stiles/Cora in the world. (I'm a bitter Stora shipper, don't mind me)  
> Also, the inspiration for this came from playing the Facebook game Wolf Pack where you raise a wolf pup and are part of a pack, and you fight other wolves, and the wolf's happiness depends on fighting, so there's that. 
> 
> I think that's all I wanted to say.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
